Scales and Feathers [Adderflare]

Snow had fallen during the night, and Smokefeather let out a soft huff as she made her way from the nursery. Her frame was more ragged than usual owing to raising the kits on her own, but she'd managed to give it a quick grooming into some semblance of order as she settled just outside the nursery for a moment. The den was downright stuffy, and she'd left the sleeping forms of the kits tucked into some moss for extra warmth. Their pelts were still a solid silver, the kits not yet old enough to start losing the soft kitten-down. That her own stress had caused them to all be silver was worrying, but Beechface had assured Smokefeather that the kits were perfectly healthy.

And... It felt nice to leave them in the care of the other queens, even if it was only for a few moments. The cold air outside was refreshing. If only Bloodstrike could be there with her...

The fluffy queen carefully stretched, shaking out her tortoiseshell fur as if that would shake the thought from her mind. Of course, that was a lost cause, and so she resigned herself to sitting in front of the nursery. A distraction would be welcome, but she was loathe to leave the kits for long, especially with the camp occupied by rogues.

OOC: Adder is pretty pregananant at this point in time, so feel free to point it out because lord knows Adder won't notice until children pop out of her

Adderflare stretched for longer than usual, trying to rid herself of the growing pains in her abdomen. She point-blank refused to see Beechface about this, pain be darned, but she had to admit it was more than a little agitating. It paled in comparison to the moons of constant agony during her recovery, but it was getting worse every day and the fact that she couldn't see what the problem was bothered her more than she liked to admit. She rose to her paws, scowling at the fact that the pain had not lessened in the slightest, and gazed at the camp. It was oddly sparse considering the amount of young her brother and his mate had produced. They must all be off hunting, or maybe helping to tend to the new... spawn in the nursery. In fact, the only nearby cat that Adderflare even recognised was her brother's mate herself. Smokefeather, wasn't it?

Against her better judgement, the heavily scarred she-cat crept towards the other cat. She couldn't help but be curious; she'd never spoken to Smokefeather as far as she could remember and her brother seemed to hold her in high regard. Might as well find out what all the fuss was about. She sat down next to her silently, avoiding eye contact but with her ears pricked up curiously.

Movement caught the resting queen's attention, and Adderflare's approach earned the scarred warrior a slow blink of surprise.

"Adderflare." Smokefeather greeted, then paused. She and her mate's sister had never really interacted before. She knew that Adderflare was not a talker and tended to keep to herself. Where Mistrain could often be coaxed into having fun and getting into trouble, Adderflare was often missing, remaining aloof and less-than approachable, most days.

Her scarred appearance hardly gave the mottle she-cat paused as she looked at Adderflare. Time had mostly dulled the shock of the fire, and to stare and draw attention to the scarring that so heavily dominated Adderflare's body was unnecessary.

And yet... Something did draw her attention. Adderflare's belly swelled in only the way that a pregnant queen's could. To mention it, or not? It would be rude if Adderflare didn't want to mention it, but Adderflare wouldn't be the first cat to have been oblivious to being pregnant in the first place, either.

"How are you?" Smokefeather asked, the question was general enough that it could have any number of meanings behind it, at least.

She jerkily nodded back, slightly surprised that Smokefeather even knew her name. "Smokefeather." Her voice was raspy and soft, with no discernible tone.

Adderflare inwardly sighed, though her outward appearance didn't change. Why must people always use such open-ended questions? Her mother, annoyingly motherly as she may be, understood her aversion to them. Smokefeather, clearly, did not. Now she had to actually think about her answer, let alone say it. How was she feeling anyway? She shrugged. Might as well be honest; unlike Beechface, this cat had no immediate power over her and probably wouldn't shove her straight into the medicine den for moons on end. "Fine. Painful, not much though." She motioned half-heartedly at her stomach, one she was beginning to notice was oddly swollen. She looked back up at Smokefeather. "Don't tell Beechface. If I'm dying, let me. Rather that than the medicine den."

Wow. Quite possibly the most she'd ever 'spoken' to anyone, and it was to a she-cat she hardly knew. Typical.

Adderflare's words came as a surprise. What little Smokefeather knew of her pointed to a cat that was quieter than Copperfox had been as an apprentice. Indeed, the rusty, raspy quality of Adderflare's voice lent truth to that thought.

"Kitting probably won't kill you, though it definitely felt like it would." Dawnhawk's birth had had Smokefeather wishing she could be put out of her misery. Her latest litter had also been difficult, but not to the extent that Dawnhawk had been. Perhaps it had been a sign of what was to come. The thought made Smokefeather shiver slightly, though with her fur the shiver clearly wasn't from the cold.

"Beechface is overbearing, I know. She means well, at least." Her daughter had been an odd choice as medicine cat, it was true. Perhaps it was what the clan needed with neglectful leader after neglectful leader. Still, Smokefeather could sympathize with not enjoying the constant fussing and threats of being sat on. Her daughter, for all her faults, did not make empty threats.

"It seems like you're far along, though. I hadn't realized..." Smokefeather cut herself off with a shake of her head. Prying into Adderflare's life wasn't her business. As curious as she was, it wasn't her place to ask about the father.

Adderflare started to nod. Then stopped. Then looked up at Smokefeather in poorly disguised sheer horror.

KITS?

She took a deep breath, trying to smooth her face back to its apathetic status quo. Okay. Kits. Gross. Would explain the pain and the swelling. She'd seen some pregnant queens around, and they always looked like they'd eaten one too many rats. Queens. Is that what she was now? A queen? She shuddered at the thought. What was she supposed to do with kits? 'Raise' them? Eat them? Give them to someone?

"Oh." That was all she had to say, though her sudden restlessness spoke volumes. How had this even happened? This, in her opinion, outdid the fire.

The look of sheer horror on Adderflare's face could've been comical. In a way, it was. Smokefeather's whiskers twitched as she struggled not to laugh, a smirk curving the edges of her lips.

"Did you... truly not know?" She managed to keep her voice level, mostly. "Look, it's not that bad... Really." Her words seemed to ring hollow despite her cheery tone. Really, raising kits hadn't been terrible, if one discounted the constant barrage of arguments, the betrayal of clanmates and family alike, and the constant, mind-numbing headache that came with it.

But then, she'd gotten Primroselight, Copperfox and Vulturecry. Raising kits really hadn't been all that bad.

Adderflare huffed, looking away. "Don't laugh." It was easy for Smoke feather to say, she was all... Motherly. Willing to interact with kits, for some unbeknownst-to-anyone reason.

"What do you even do with kits? What's the... Point?" Her voice was as monotone as always, but her face held a genuinely puzzled expression. She didn't understand why people kept having kits. None of it sounded rewarding.

"The clan needs warriors somehow." The geuine puzzlement on Adderflare's face was baffling... And yet, it didn't seem quite as baffling as it should've been to the queen that was raising her third litter.

"I could say that there is no greater joy than raising a family but..." Smokefeather huffed, fluffy tail flicking back and forth. "Sometimes I'm not so sure the stars aren't punishing me for some forgotten transgression or slight, with how things have turned out." How else would one possibly explain raising such argumentative kits? Explain raising a traitor? Smokefeather had tried, though it never seemed to be enough to hold things together, to keep her family from senseless fighting with each other. A part of her said that Dawnhawk deserved everything said to and about him, but Smokefeather wasn't yet entirely sold on it. Her daughters certainly seemed to be, and Smokefeather understood. They had the right to be as furious as they were. Smokefeather was furious too. Yet she couldn't quite bring herself to confront the snake in their midst. She would say something she'd regret, and only push him away even further than she already had. Even trying seemed like a lost cause at this point. Knowing that, could she really blame Adderflare for being more horrified than excited at the thought of having kits? Smokefeather had been thrilled to have kits, and the entire clan suffered for it.